


Bound to be Free

by littlestarofthewest (sternchencas)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bondage, Bottom John Marston, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Top Arthur Morgan, tied-up John Marston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 21:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternchencas/pseuds/littlestarofthewest
Summary: It's one of John's bad days where he longs to do something reckless to get rid of the strain inside of him. Only this time, Arthur doesn't let him, finding a better solution instead.





	Bound to be Free

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for a tumblr request where someone asked for kinky bondage stuff with Arthur and another male character. Somehow I immediately thought about John. This was supposed to be short and sweet, but John messed everything up.

The first time it happens, John is just drunk and an idiot. He doesn't plan for any of this. You can't blame him for it neither. How was he supposed to know that a bit of rope could be what breaks and mends him at the same time? Just like Arthur used to say, things always turn out alright for John. This is how it starts.

* * *

"Put your gun away, Marston," Arthur says, "you're not going in there."

He always talks with this tone of authority. A real son of Dutch. Confident, sure of himself, a leader, even commander. John chuckles. Not to him, though. While growing up, Arthur has been kind to him one too many times, and John knows he can get away with pretty much anything.

"It's an easy score," he says. "I got a good tip."

"It's a gun store, and you're so drunk that you can't even walk straight. I won't let you do this."

That's final. Arthur's voice makes it so. It's as deep and round as always, but it has that edge, a growl from deep within. John knows all too well what that means. He calls it the Master Morgan voice. Years ago, bored out of his mind, he thumbed through a book in Dutch's tent, couldn't even tell if it was Dutch's or Hosea's. There was talk in the book about a master. A man perfectly skilled in something, having control or authority; a teacher or tutor, one who employs another or others in his service. Most people would have thought about Dutch, John thought about Arthur.

Usually, he would have known to back down, but he had one drink too many, and that itch under his skin. John tries to round the corner, but Arthur grabs him and pushes him back against the wall, taking his gun away. "Don't be stupid, John."

John doesn't want to be stupid. Things are just happening when he has to scratch that itch. He can deal with it for a while, but it builds up, like water hitting a dam, and then he needs to break, or he drowns. It's robberies and shootouts, long rides and running from the law, sometimes even sleeping in the rain or getting into a fight. He doesn't have to win. He just needs the thrill of being beaten.

"You can't stop me," John says, his drunken mind not considering the fact that robbing a gun store unarmed might not be the best idea.

"I'll get you back to camp," Arthur sighs. He's not even listening to John. "Come on."

John shoves Arthur away, even tries to hit him. It's a bad idea. Arthur blocks his blow, and a second later, John finds himself with his face pressed flat against the wall. Arthur is behind John, holding his arms back in a tight grip. John squirms. He has to get away with this. He always does. "Let me go!"

"I had enough of your shit, Marston," Arthur growls. It's his Master Morgan voice, right by John's ear, his breath ghosting over John's skin. "You're not a goddamn boy anymore."

But that's just it. John grew up rough but protected. He got told what to do, where to be, when to go, and what to think. And then, from one moment to the other, everybody wanted him to be a man. He's supposed to make his own decisions, protect the gang, bring in money, be fierce, relentless, stay strong, take care of himself. It's too much. The water is rising, drop by drop, and it begins to overflow. John needs to break.

John throws himself against Arthur, trying to break free. He has the element of surprise, making Arthur stumble back, but it's like taunting a bull. You shouldn't do it. "That's it," Arthur says, and those two words alone give John goosebumps all over. He knows he went too far.

For a split second, he thinks about apologizing, but Arthur spins him around, pressing him with his back against the wall. Then, he takes his lasso off his belt, wrapping it around John's wrists. The rope cuts into his skin, even more so when he struggles a bit. John feels a crack in the dam.

"Arthur," he whines and pulls on the rope. He's not sure if he wants to have it cut into his skin again or if he's trying to get Arthur closer.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Arthur asks, his voice different, breathless. He must be confused. Standing close, he stares into John's eyes, and John feels more cracks. He needs this, he needs Arthur.

Without thinking, John leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Arthur's lips. He lingers there, with Arthur's scent in his nose and his taste on his lips. One second, two seconds, an eternity. He's waiting for Arthur to hit him, but he should have known better. Arthur doesn't do that to him. Instead, Arthur pulls back, watching him.

"You've completely lost your mind."

John wishes more than anything that he could explain himself. In a weak moment, John once peeked into Arthur's journal. He has a way with words that John can only long for. All he can do is reach for Arthur with his bound arms, his fingers clawing at Arthur's shirt. "It's too much, all of it. I can't do it, Arthur, just can't. Make it stop, please, make it stop."

Arthur studies him for a long moment. Then, he pulls on the rope, dragging John along as if on a leash, taking him over to their horses. "Are you gonna get up there, or do I have to make you?"

"Not going anywhere," John snarls, pulling on the rope, letting it cut deep.

Arthur pushes against John's knee from behind to make him fall down. With his tied hands, John hits the ground hard. Before he can get back to his senses, Arthur ties John's legs as well and lifts him onto his horse. From one second to the other, John is nothing more than one of those idiots who thought they could cheat and outrun one Arthur Morgan. John wonders if any of them felt as good as he does.

Riding with John on the back of his horse, Arthur strings Old Boy along, not caring at all when other travelers pass them by with curious looks. They ride for so long that John passes out once in a while. The last time he comes to, Arthur is carrying him again. They enter an old abandoned house in the middle of the woods with a shabby bed in one corner. Arthur throws John on top of it.

"Sleep it off, idiot," Arthur grunts, and there's nothing else John can do, so he closes his eyes.

* * *

John's hands are still tied together when he wakes up, but his legs are free. He wiggles around, stretching his muscles and trying to see the rest of the house, but he can only glean at the door. It's quiet, and John's not sure if he's alone.

"Arthur?" he asks, his voice even raspier than usual.

There's no answer, and a little voice in John's mind begins to spin cruel stories. What if Arthur really had enough of him this time? Maybe he left him here to rot, unable to defend himself. John moves around with more force, the rope cutting hard into his skin. He welcomes the pain and fear. It takes the strain off him.

"Stop that, goddammit." Arthur's voice is unnaturally loud in the small space. He walks over to John from the end of the room that John couldn't see. Kneeling down, he holds John's arms in place. "You gonna hurt yourself."

"So what?" John says, straining against Arthur's grip.

Arthur doesn't let go, though, and the situation is getting to John. He's still tied up, on a bed, with Arthur right next to him. His pants grow tight, and he's right back where he started the night before. Arthur holds a flask to John's lips, and John drinks so eagerly that the water runs from his lips down over his throat and chest.

"Jesus, you're such a mess, Marston," Arthur says. He takes the flask away and watches John as intensely as the night before. "You wanna tell me now, or do I have to keep you here for another night?"

"Tell you what?" John says, licking his wet lips.

"You could start with what's wrong with you. Every once in a while, you go completely off the rails," Arthur says, still studying John. "You always get past it, but it's getting worse, and I'm not letting you get into more trouble over it."

"Like you care," John mumbles, not even sure why he says that. He's always torn between wanting Arthur's support or doing things on his own. It seems so undignified that he's always the one who needs help.

"You think I tied you up and brought you here because I don't care?" Arthur huffs.

John glares at Arthur, hating that he always makes him feel stupid. "Who knows, maybe you get off on it."

They stare at each other for a long moment. John is sure he's about to get another lecture, but then, Arthur reaches for his leg, his fingers trailing up John's thigh. "Do I get off on it? Did I kiss you?"

Arthur grabs the rope and pulls, the fabric digging into John's skin again. A little moan escapes John, and he bites his lip when Arthur's hand comes to rest too damn close to his crotch. "We're done playing games," he says, the Master Morgan voice so dominant now that John shivers. "You gonna tell me, right now."

"I don't know-"

"Tell me!"

John takes a deep breath. "I get that- that itch, I can't scratch. The water's coming up to my chest, and I know I'm about to drown. I need to break, let it out."

"Let it out by doing stupid, reckless shit?"

"I guess," John says. "You know, like kissing you."

Arthur nods, but then he suddenly shakes his head. "That was a lot less stupid than robbing a gun store."

John can't believe that they're actually talking about this. His chest feels a little lighter already. "Sorry, by the way. Shouldn't have done that."

"Why did you kiss me?"

"I don't-" John begins, but then, he stops himself. He does know, just not wanting to admit it. But they're here now, and it's unlikely that John will ever have the chance to talk to Arthur like this again. He might as well spit it all out. "Because you make it better. The pressure goes away when you're there. I guess I thought it would go quicker if I just- if I could get more of you."

Arthur studies him for another long moment, and John feels like he wants to die.

"What do you want me to do, John?" Arthur finally asks, his voice calm, in control.

John hates when Arthur's doing that. Once in a while, he forgets all about Marston, Johnny Boy, or whatever mean nickname it is that day, and he becomes John. It sounds too familiar coming from Arthur's lips, too close. John takes a deep breath, but the words still come out in a whisper. "Break me."

Arthur's fingers on John's thigh dig a little deeper, making John's cock twitch, and Arthur closes his eyes for a moment before looking at John. "You trust me?"

"I guess."

"John, do you trust me or not?" Arthur's voice is almost desperate as if he's longing for an answer.

"Jesus, Arthur, sure I trust you. More than anybody else."

The last words tumble out of John's mouth without his say so, but he doesn't regret them when something glistens in Arthur's eyes. Letting go of John's thigh, Arthur grabs the ropes and unties them. John is about to protest, but Arthur pulls out his knife and waves it at him. "Outside is a well with a bucket. Clean yourself up."

"What?" John asks, his mind not able to follow the sudden change of direction.

"You've been out the whole night, if you don't have to piss like a horse, then something's wrong with you," Arthur says. "And while you're out there, you might as well wash up. I can make something to eat."

There's no point in arguing, so John stumbles outside. Since he's still rock hard, he heads for the well first. It's not easy to get the bucket up when your arms are still half numb, but John has always been a resilient son of a bitch. He shrugs out of his clothes, splashing the cold water over his body before dumping the rest of it over his head.

The harsh treatment finally takes care of his erection, and he relieves himself at a nearby tree before putting his pants back on. He carries the shirt, enjoying how droplets of water run down his naked back. Any physical sensation he can get is welcome, especially after what happened with Arthur.

For a split second, John dared to hope that Arthur would help him. He can't even say how, but not being alone would have been enough. Instead, Arthur wants him to keep going, grind, the pressure always on. John takes a deep breath before heading back inside, ready to maintain the charade.

Arthur keeps a fire going in a broken-down fireplace, two cans of something resting near the flames to get warm. "Sit down," he orders, and John obeys.

He doesn't even care what Arthur is giving him, but he thanks him and eats, having to admit that it makes him feel a little better. When John's finishes, he gets up and stretches, his body still not happy about the way he slept last night.

"So, you wanna head back to camp now?" he asks. It's his first attempt to put this whole damn mess behind them.

"Do you want to go back?" Arthur asks, doubt in his voice.

"Sure, why wouldn't I?"

Arthur gets to his feet and walks over to John. It's barely three steps, but John feels like the air around him is heating up. Arthur puts his hands on John's naked shoulders and turns him around, making him face the bed. At first, John has no idea what Arthur wants, but then he spots the rope. Arthur cut it up in four pieces and bound one piece to each corner of the bed. If a person was to lie in that bed…

John's heart pounds faster, Arthur's hands on his shoulders radiating a heat that makes him melt. Arthur leans in, his breath teasing John's ear, and when he speaks, John knows that it's no longer just the voice. Behind him is Master Morgan, in the flesh. "If you want me to break you, I'll break you, but you gotta be sure."

"I am sure," John says quickly. "I want it."

"Take off your pants and get on the bed," Arthur says, and John undresses faster than ever before. He doesn't even care how eager he seems when what he's wished for is finally in reach.

John crawls onto the bed and lies down, his arms up over his head, and his legs spread apart. It's not the first time Arthur sees him naked, but there's a big difference between seeing each other around camp and presenting himself like this. Arthur follows John, starting on his right side and binding him with the rope. With the fabric tearing into his flesh again, John's cock twitches, and by the time Arthur continues with his other arm, he's just as hard as he was before.

Arthur moves like he always does, determined and with precision. John's eyes are glued to him, taking in every stretch of muscle under his shirt and even how his hair falls a little into his face when he bends over. Arthur continues with John's legs, barely touching him. John wiggles around when Arthur's done, testing the ropes. It's like he suspected. There's no way out of the restrains, not when Arthur wants to keep him there. With a last look at John, Arthur gets up and takes his bandana from around his neck. He steps behind the bed and uses it to blindfold John.

"Arthur-" John breathes, fear creeping up on him.

"Do you still want me to do this?" Arthur says, his fingertips running along John's neck.

"Yes."

"You trust me?"

"I told you-" John grunts, annoyance creeping into his voice.

He can feel that Arthur leans over him. "Then stop fighting. Just - let go."

John has no idea how. That's part of the problem. Still, he doesn't feel like it's a good idea to argue, so he stays quiet. Arthur disappears from over him, and John can hear footsteps, then a door. Arthur walks away, leaving him here like this.

At first, John tells himself that Arthur has something planned. He's probably fetching whatever he thinks he needs to break John. Taking deep breaths, John manages to keep himself calm, but there's still the strain on him, worse than before. It makes him pull on the ropes again and again. It's a short burst of relieve, but after a while, it's not enough anymore. John thinks about Reverend Swanson, how he seems to need more and more of his drug to keep himself in check. He doesn't want to be like that. Still, after a while, John fears he might be even worse.

Time is standing still, and John becomes more and more aware of his surroundings. Birds are singing outside, leaves shaking in the wind. If he listens carefully, he can make out the rush of water. Then, he can hear horses, maybe a wagon. His heart beats faster in his chest, and he throws himself against the rope. It burns against his skin. John tries to level his breathing, calm himself enough so he can hear something else than his own quick breaths.

If there was a wagon, it's gone now, but waves of heat rush through John's chest whenever something cracks or rattles outside. John has never been one to be overly ashamed. Still, he's more vulnerable now than ever before, and he hates it with a burning passion. Biting his lip, John keeps himself from screaming Arthur's name, begging him to come back. He'll hold on to the little bit of pride he still has.

The door opens, the bolts screeching in their angles. There are footsteps, the door falls shut, and someone walks over to the bed, slow and steady. John doesn't ask who it is. If it were anybody else than Arthur, they probably wouldn't just walk in here and look at him without a word. Still, the air becomes heavy with silence, pressing down on him. John can feel a presence next to him, someone bending over to him.

"You ready for me, John?" Arthur asks, his voice cracking down on John like a whip.

"I hate you so much, Morgan," John grunts, his heart fluttering. He's relieved that it's really Arthur with him in the room, but he also fears what else he might put him through.

Arthur chuckles, the sound a dark rumble right by John's ear, creeping into his bones. "Wait until I'm done with you."

John's not sure if that's a threat or a promise. He doesn't get to think about it. Arthur puts his hands on John's neck, warm and steady. He moves them upward, fingers carding into John's hair, scratching along his scalp. A shiver runs down John's body, and Arthur's hands follow it down at a tantalizing pace. His fingers caress John's collarbones and chest, before wandering along his sides and down to his stomach.

It takes until now for John to realize how different this is. Arthur has touched him a thousand times. He picked him up, tossed him around, held his hand, threw him over his shoulder, carried him, and on some occasions when they were younger, they rolled around on the ground hitting each other. Nothing comes even close to this. John feels better than ever before in his life, and a big part of him wishes to stay right here and now, even if it means being tied to an ugly old bed for all eternity.

Arthur's fingers trail along John's hip bones, making his cock twitch. Rolling his hips, John tries to get some form of friction, but there's nothing there, Arthur not yet granting him any release. Instead, he kneads his thighs, fingers digging harder into the flesh than necessary. That takes a little bit of the edge off.

John fully suspects for this to be it, for Arthur to finally get a move on, but Master Morgan doesn't feel the same urgency than John does. He caresses John's legs, tugging a little at the ropes before moving back up, mapping all of John's body under his hands. John lets out a deep breath by the time Arthur runs his fingers through John's hair again, his body melting into the mattress.

On Arthur's next tour down John's body, he kisses every inch of skin that he touches. Then, he adds his tongue, teasing John's most vulnerable spots, the ones Arthur also bites down on when he travels down for the fourth time.

John is tense like the string of a bow by then, moving under Arthur like a wounded animal, little gasps escaping him. He's hot all over, restless, not quite sure if he can get enough air. Arthur leans in, following John's panting to the source. After teasing John for a short eternity, Arthur kisses him for the first time.

His lips are a lot softer than they have any business of being, brushing so tenderly over John's open mouth that John moans at the sensation. He's used to rough kisses, sometimes stolen between hurried fucks in side alleys. Someone taking so much care with him takes John's breath away.

Arthur doesn't touch him anymore. His lips are the only thing John can feel, their only connection. He cherishes it all the more, letting Arthur invade his mouth, rub his tongue against John's. Then Arthur teases him with little nips and flicks of his tongue, coaxing John to give as good as he gets. The kisses get sloppier then, more heated, sending shivers all over John's body.

Right when John thinks he can fall into a rhythm, Arthur disappears again, leaving him there with nothing to taste or feel. It's quiet, only emptiness around John. He tugs at the ropes, cursing when the burns on his skin do nothing to satisfy his newfound hunger. It's then that John gives up on his pride. It never did him good anyway.

"Arthur, please," he begs, licking his lips.

"What do you want, John?" Arthur asks. He's too far away, his voice too cold, detached from all of this.

John's never been good with his words, and Arthur knows it, torturing him with the very thing. "I need you," John pleads, taking deep breaths between the words. "I- I want you. Want to feel you. Inside of me."

There's a long stretch of silence, making John doubt himself. Did he say too much or not enough? Is Arthur just teasing him again? Then he hears footsteps approaching the bed. "How long have you wanted this?"

John swallows hard, the question making it hard to breathe. It's one thing to be tied to a bed naked, but even that's not enough for Arthur. He wants to strip John clean, not only physically.

Thinking back, John remembers a night in a dingy saloon, the drinks flowing freely after they made a big score. For once, Arthur wasn't calm and collected, and drunk Arthur was a man all of his own. More approachable, careless, still a damn tease, but one you gladly gave all that you had. One of the women in the saloon did just that, handing herself over to Arthur completely. The moment Arthur touched her, giving in to the offer, John's blood boiled. Out of nowhere, he despised that woman, wanted her gone. Instead, he longed to be the one in Arthur's arms.

John got drunk then, real drunk, causing such a ruckus that he got thrown out of the saloon with the bartender threatening to shoot him on the spot. John didn't plan for it to happen, but Arthur followed him that night, leaving that awful woman behind. Instead, he ended up coiled around a freezing John as they tripped over themselves and slept where they landed.

That was the first time the horrible strain on John's soul subsided, and he was at least smart enough to recognize his salvation. Arthur Morgan.

The string of idiotic things John did were much likely less of an accident than he let himself believe. After all, it's always Arthur bailing him out, winning a fistfight for him, shooting someone who dared to draw on his back. It's always Arthur who saves him, who cares enough to even try.

"How long, John?" Arthur asks again. He'll have his answer, take it from John by force if need be.

John's heart stings, his past suddenly nothing but an intricate dance around the man that means more to him than his own life. John loved Arthur, and fiercely, for longer than he cares to admit.

"Years," John says, his voice hoarse. "Too many goddamn years."

Arthur is on him much faster than John could have anticipated, kissing him again. There's no more teasing about it now, only rough desire. Arthur licks into John's mouth, his hands all over John's body, clawing at his flesh, leaving marks. John moans against Arthur's lips, eager to please, to do anything that might get him this kind of reward. It's like a tornado is hurling him around, gone a second later.

John whines, wishing for Arthur to come back. Instead of begging, he strains his ears, and what he hears is better than anything he could have hoped for. It's the soft rustling of clothes, Arthur stepping out of his boots, the click of a belt buckle, and jeans falling to the floor. Even without seeing it, John can imagine what's happening right in front of him, and a moan escapes his lips. He tries to hold it back, but Arthur is reaping the rewards from what he did before. Making John wait has him on edge now, and he fears that he might come from nothing.

Then the bed dips down next to John, and hot and cold shivers take turns running rampant on his body. He wants to be touched again, kissed again. Even hearing Arthur's voice would already be a blessing. Arthur does him a favor, leaning in close, giving John a chance to breathe in his scent.

"If you want me, you're even more of a mess than I thought," Arthur says.

He's not scolding John like he usually does. The words are a simple observation, at least in Arthur's eyes. John knows that he's fucked up, but Arthur isn't far behind when it comes to self-worth.

"Fuck it out of me then," John growls. "Make us both better."

"How bad is it?" Arthur asks, running his fingers along John's neck. "The water that's coming up to your chest?"

Something flutters in John's chest. He's impressed that Arthur seems to understand his stupid way of describing how he feels. "Right now? I've been drowning for weeks."

"You should've said something," Arthur says, his voice thoughtful.

"And then what?" John huffs. "What would you've done? Patted my back? Talked about my feelings? Kissed it all better?"

Arthur leans in, his cheek rubbing against John as if he's a cuddly cat. "Maybe," he says, his voice soft in John's ear.

Heat pools in John's chest because he believes Arthur. They've always been at each other's throats, arguing, teasing, scolding, but Arthur has never been cruel. They both have those lines circling around them, never to be crossed. What they're doing here crosses them all.

"Arthur," John pleads, the name all he can think of. He's not good with words, Arthur knows that.

As if coming out of a trance, Arthur moves again. John hears a little click but has no idea what Arthur's doing until he feels Arthur's hand against his thigh. He pushes his legs apart, and his fingers come to rest between John's cheeks. There's something oily on them, rubbing around John's rim, the sudden sensation making him moan again. He wants to scold Arthur for surprising him like this but needs all his focus to enjoy the touch.

Arthur slowly pushes a finger inside of John, getting him used to the penetration. John wishes he could act like a blushing virgin, but he does this kind of thing to himself all the time. Rolling his hips, he enjoys how Arthur opens him up a little, clenching his muscles around Arthur's finger. It's the first time Arthur makes a sound, a deep growl that could be good or bad.

Then Arthur takes his hand away, the bed dipping under his movements. John has no idea what he does until he feels something hot and heavy pressing against his hip. John groans in frustration. This is the first time he has Arthur this close, the first time he gets to feel his dick, and he can't even see it. He wiggles on the bed, the ropes cutting into his flesh.

"Stop fighting," Arthur says, his Master Morgan voice dominant again as he's running a hand along John's face. "You'll get to see soon enough."

John takes that as a promise and keeps still, eagerly waiting for what Arthur has planned for him. Just like before, Arthur takes his time. His cock is rubbing along John's, the two of them trapped between their bodies when Arthur leans closer. He kisses John again, making him melt. Arthur's hot body lying heavily on top of him has John panting. He wishes he could touch, run his hands over Arthur's shoulders, and claw hat his back. Instead, he balls his hands to fists, the nails digging into his own skin.

For someone so massive, Arthur moves like a cougar on top of John, smoothly rolling his hips, only touching him exactly where he knows from before that it drives John wild. The tension keeps rising in John, and he throws his head back and clenches his teeth together, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

"Arthur, please," John begs, too desperate to care anymore.

He waits for Arthur to get up, but instead, he feels fingers behind his head. Arthur is taking off the blindfold, and seconds later, John is caught in Arthur's beautiful eyes. Arthur keeps looking at him while he presses one soft kiss to his lips. Then he gets up, kneeling between John's legs. John strains his neck to look down, his eyes traveling over Arthur's muscular chest and following the treasure trail of hairs that lead to Arthur's cock. John moans again, the mere thought of having Arthur inside of him almost too much.

Arthur keeps looking at him while he moves, pulling John's ass up from the bed and pushing his knees under John to hold him up at a better angle, the strains digging into the skin at John's ankles. Then Arthur grabs a small bottle, putting the oily substance on his hand that he used on John before. He strokes his cock a few times, John's eyes glued to his hand. John bites his lip when Arthur puts himself into position, his tip brushing against John's hole.

"How bad do you want this?" Arthur asks, rubbing up and down, almost pushing in, but not quite.

John moves his hips, trying desperately to push himself onto Arthur's cock. "If you don't fuck me right now, I'm gonna shoot myself."

A low chuckle breaks out of Arthur, and he runs a hand all the way from John's chest down to his stomach as if he's soothing a frightened horse. "I wouldn't want that."

Without warning, he pushes inside of John, who lets his head fall back with a cry. He knows the same second that this is it, the salvation he's always been looking for. The dam cracks hard as blood rushes through John's veins, the steady thumping of it becoming overly loud in his ears. It only subsides when Arthur goes deeper, stretching John open inch by inch in a tantalizing pace. When he's sheeted fully inside of John, he runs a hand over John's hair and along his face, grounding him.

"You're alright, boy," he whispers, and John believes it for the first time in his life. He can be broken, mended, saved.

Arthur barely moves at first, letting John getting used to the feeling of being so awfully full. Only when John is the one to push himself onto Arthur, he sets a steady pace, gliding in and out of John while he runs his hands all over John's body. After all the teasing, John thinks he's getting used to it, but every brush of Arthur's fingers, every teasing pull, and every hard grab sets him on fire again.

After a while, Arthur pulls back, letting John wait before he pushes back inside, hitting John so deep that it feels like he's splitting him open, more fire and heat breaking out of the crack, melting John from the inside. Arthur keeps teasing him like this, over and over again. John's cock keeps twitching, red and swollen, precome leaking from the tip. He only gets a whisper of friction when Arthur ruts hard enough into him that the tip of John's cock hits his own stomach. It's not enough and too much at the same time.

John's balls are drawn tight to his body, on edge as he is, always ready to get off at any second. But Master Morgan wouldn't be a Master if he let him come that easily. He's changing pace, going faster and slower, pushing hard or gliding along with as much friction as possible, stretching John's muscles with a slow rub. Every time John thinks he's getting close to getting off, Arthur draws back, only touching him, holding the arousal at bay.

John wants to scream at him to keep going, to beg for more, but then he remembers what Arthur said to him right at the start. Let go. What keeps him on edge all the time are fears, responsibilities, and evil thoughts. None of those have a place here. He's safe with Arthur, there's nothing he has to take care of, and his mind is so full with pleasure that he can't think about anything else.

A colossal weight falls off of him, getting carried away, dissolving in the air together with his moans. He fully gives himself over to Arthur, and everything changes. As if he knows, Arthur pulls out of him and changes his position again. He puts John flat on the bed, pushing his legs further apart to make room for himself. This time, Arthur glides into John as if they've been made for this, to be this close, to become one.

With their bodies pressed together, Arthur kisses John again, the taste of him intoxicating. There's nothing else in the world for John but Arthur. His taste and smell, the heat of his body, his hard length inside of John, the voice that can make John do whatever Arthur wants.

"This is it, John," Arthur says, nibbling on John's ear. "You're doing so good."

The praise goes down John's body as if he's dipped in honey, the heat from his core rolling in waves all over him with each thrust from Arthur. He's done with teasing John now, going at a steady pace, hammering away at the dam. Every hot kiss, every touch, and every push is another crack, the whole structure soon crumbling. John moans without holding back, spreading his legs apart as far as possible. Whenever Arthur's not kissing him, John’s mouth falls open, sucking in air so he can pull through, take everything Arthur gives him.

"You'll never have to feel like this again," Arthur promises, his breath hot against John's face.

He picks up the pace then, rutting harder into John, using his full length to bury himself deeper and deeper inside. John's nerves are on fire, his muscles clenching, the heat overwhelming him. He lets out a string of moans and gasps, followed by a cry when Arthur hits the perfect spot, making John's thighs quiver. He pushes his legs together, trying to get Arthur even deeper, the rope cutting so hard into his skin that he draws blood. He doesn't care, not now.

Arthur buries his face against John's neck, licking and biting at him between his own heavy breaths. "You'll be just fine," he whispers, his lips brushing against John's ears. "You're perfect, you always have been."

With his words, John breaks. The dam shatters in thousands of pieces, and John with it.

"Arthur!" he cries out, his mouth falling open in a silent moan, his body shuddering.

John's muscles clench around Arthur while John's own cock pulses like crazy. He comes untouched between the two of them, coating them both with his come. For a few seconds, his body is one raw nerve, feeling everything at once. Then there's sweet silence as he's melting into the mattress beneath him. He barely notices how Arthur moves. He glides out of him and reaches up to tear at the ropes.

When John is free, Arthur buries his head against his neck again, and John comes enough to his senses to move his arms. He's got barely enough feeling in them to move, but he still brings them around Arthur, running his fingers through his hair and holding on. Arthur breathes heavy against his skin, his hand wandering between his legs to take care of himself.

"How do you feel?" he asks rutting into his own hand.

John takes one deep breath. It feels as if he's breathing for the first time in years. "Free. Whole. Happy."

Arthur grunts. "And you think you don't know the words."

A sudden burst of warmth in John's chest sets him in motion. He cups Arthur's face with his hands, lifts it up so he can look at him. "You wanna know how I feel? Loved."

Arthur is still panting but shakes his head slightly as if he knows where this is going, and fears that John might go this far. John pulls him in for a soft kiss before searching his eyes again.

"Free," he says, kissing Arthur again.

"Whole." Another kiss.

"Happy." An even more prolonged kiss, putting everything that swirls around in him into it. Then he holds still, making Arthur look at him for an eternity.

He licks his lips, wanting for the words to be just perfect when he says them. "I feel like," he says, making a pause, letting the fluttering in his chest consume him, "I'm in love."

Arthur can't look at him anymore, dropping his gaze with a pained expression before resting his head against John's chest. His hips buck as he comes, his seed mixing with John's while John holds on to him, wanting to be there for him just like Arthur did for him.

They both just breath for a while after that until Arthur moves out of John's grip. He reaches for John's legs to get him free of the ropes before he crawls back up and lies down next to John. The cold is nothing John handles very well, so he moves over, cuddling up to Arthur again.

"You're a goddamn mess, Marston," Arthur says, but he puts his arms around John and pulls him close.

John buries his face against Arthur's neck, soaking up the warmth. "Thank you," he says.

"You're no longer drowning?" Arthur asks, a bit of worry in his voice.

"Feels more like flying," John admits, closing his eyes, the heavy feeling of oncoming sleep taking hold of him.

"John?"

"Hm?"

Arthur takes a deep breath, his chest rising under John's hand. "I think I'm in love, too."

Warmth spreads in John's chest. "You're not sure?" he mumbles.

"Never felt like this before."

"You figure it out," John says, pressing as close to Arthur as he possibly can. "You always do."

Arthur doesn't say anything, but he turns his head and kisses John's forehead. It's the last thing John feels before he falls asleep, safe and sound.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) As always, feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](http://littlestarofthewest.tumblr.com), I'm always taking requests :)


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